


At Least Thirty Seconds Of Despondency

by genarti



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, affectionate mockery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genarti/pseuds/genarti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How heartless you are, Combeferre. Yes, as a matter of fact. I am broken-hearted and despondent, and it is your duty as dear friends to cheer me up.  I insist that you entertain me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least Thirty Seconds Of Despondency

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chainsaw_poet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainsaw_poet/gifts).



> [Written](http://artificialities.tumblr.com/post/75523931075/happy-100-followers-on-this-occasion-of-much) for [ChainsawPoet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chainsaw_poet), who wanted Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras and fluffy friend-cuddles.

Courfeyrac passed the porter with a tip of the hat and a few cheerful words, ascertained that M. Combeferre was in his room — accompanied by a friend, he was told — mounted the stairs, knocked and entered. The friend was Enjolras. The two of them sat shoulder to shoulder on the sofa. They had been reading, and were clearly prepared to resume that activity.

"Gabrielle has thrown me over." Courfeyrac informed them, as he relieved himself of hat and gloves. His coat he hung with care on a peg; he straightened Enjolras’s coat on the next peg, as a kindness to his friend, who would neither notice nor care if his coat developed wrinkles from careless hanging.

Enjolras got the uncertain look he always developed when required to provide sympathy over a matter entirely outside his purview. Courfeyrac, as always, found it both touching and enormously entertaining.

"And now you are broken-hearted?" Combeferre supplied. Enjolras’s face eased at the brisk tone, and he turned his gaze back to his reading material.

"How heartless you are, Combeferre. Yes, as a matter of fact. I am broken-hearted and despondent, and it is your duty as dear friends to cheer me up." Courfeyrac shifted the stack of pamphlets resting beside Enjolras to the floor, so that he could drape himself dramatically across the sofa without crumpling them. Enjolras placidly lifted the pamphlet in his hand out of the way of Courfeyrac’s head, as it landed in his lap. "I insist that you entertain me."

Enjolras’s free hand came to rest absently on Courfeyrac’s chest. Courfeyrac hooked his legs more comfortably over the sofa’s arm, and settled in. “Have you read Blanqui’s latest? There’s another copy on the floor.”

"I have. It’s excellent. What do you think?"

Enjolras’s fingers lifted in a brief gesture of agreement. “I have not yet finished.”

"Ah." Courfeyrac left him to do so, and turned his attention to Combeferre. "What are you up to? Fourier, I see. Is it one of the interesting ones, or one of the merely peculiar? Ought I to ask you to explain it to me, or to read aloud, or will we all regret either option?"

"I’ll lend it to you later if you like." Combeferre lowered the book slightly, the better to regard Courfeyrac with exasperated affection. Courfeyrac gave him his most charmingly interested look in return. "Do you really insist on being entertained? You cannot possibly be broken-hearted. You only met the girl three weeks ago."

"Four, and I quite liked her. She’s very intelligent. Not to mention talented at a number of other things which I won’t make Enjolras ignore the details of, but I assure you, her skill is notable. Sadly, her discernment is not. She threw me over for a lawyer, Combeferre. A practicing one!"

"How dreadful for you."

"Show a little sympathy, or I will regale you with her skill after all."

"No you won’t," said Enjolras, placid and implacable, without lifting his eyes from the page.

"Once you’ve gone home I will."

Combeferre snorted. “My sympathy extends precisely this far: I will fetch you a book instead of making you get up.”

"Good enough," said Courfeyrac, his cheer somewhat renewed. "Something interesting, please. Later I will make you both take me out to dinner." He peered up at them in sudden suspicion. "You did have lunch, didn’t you? —That is entirely too long a pause. My dear fellows—!"

Enjolras sent him a faintly exasperated glance. “Of course we did. I fetched it from the bakery around the corner.”

"Ah yes," said Combeferre to himself. And then, in a different tone, "Here, Bentham. Content yourself, Courfeyrac."

Courfeyrac accepted the book, but did not yet open it. “Bread and water,” he lamented to the ceiling. “That is not lunch, that is a cloistered monk’s allotment. You are taking me out to dinner, and I am choosing the restaurant.”

"Read your book," said Combeferre, taking his place next to Enjolras again, and opening his own book with decision.

Courfeyrac peered hopefully upward at Enjolras. Seeing that he still had some pages to read in Blanqui’s pamphlet, and thus that there was no point yet in attempting to begin a discussion of it, he sighed gustily, was ignored, and directed his attention to Bentham’s judicial organization.


End file.
